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The Duke let out a sigh of frustration, his fists unclenching as he collapsed back into his chair. “I…agree. Though I must say, when I get angry, I find it quite frustrating to keep straight just who I’m angry at. It is terribly difficult to keep such things straight in my head sometimes.”
“In mine as well,” Edward said, reaching forward to pat his ward on the knee with encouragement. “All part of growing into maturity, I’m sorry to say.”
“Does everyone struggle like this, Edward?” Christopher asked, his eyes shining with tears. Edward met this question with a smile.
“Yes. Everyone but your sisters, perhaps.”
“Bloody hell,” said the duke, covering his eyes with a hand.
“Language, Your Grace.”
“You are right, though. They will be atrocious to Miss Clara, and undeservedly so.”
“Then we shall just have to be twice as kind to her, won’t we?” said Edward as he glanced at his watch.
“More struggle towards maturity?” the Duke grumbled.
Edward rose and snuffed the candle on the desk, cleaning up his ward’s papers to get ready to retire for the evening. Before he did, he put a hand back on Christopher’s shoulder. The young man looked up to him expectantly.
“You will try to be kind to Miss Clara, won’t you, Your Grace?”
Christopher nodded gravely. “As long as she is good to me, I shall be good to her.”
Edward bobbed his head. “Not exactly the purest altruism, but I suppose that will do.”
“Well,” Christopher said with a shy grin as he stood. “Perhaps Miss Clara shall be easier to be kind to than Helena and Judith, at least.”
A melancholy smile alighted on Edward’s face. I was wrong—he is no longer a thoughtful boy. Every day he becomes more a man. How is it the time seems to all fly right out the chimney so quickly?
“Of that, I have little doubt, Your Grace,” he said, ushering the young man out the doorway of the darkened room.
* * *
Edward rubbed his hands together, hoping to return some feeling to his sore, ink-stained fingers. Taken by a sudden shiver, he glanced over at his window and scowled to see that it was still closed.
“I need to get someone to look at that chimney…” he muttered, glaring briefly at the small fire that burned in his study’s hearth. He vowed to do so first thing in the morning, assuming he remembered to among all his other duties.
Edward looked down at the stack of letters on his desk, each representing bit of Ducal business that needed to be addressed as soon as possible…then, in a quick fit of impulsiveness, he blew out his candle and walked out the door instead.
It is too cold a night to while away on correspondence, he thought just as he nearly ran right into Mr Momplaisir, who was approaching his door at his usual quick but silent pace.
“Oh!” they both cried in surprise, taking a step back and verifying the other was unhurt.
“I was coming to tell you that you have a visitor, sir,” said Momplaisir, uncharacteristically ruffled by this near miss.
“And I was coming to tell you that I hope you are not still at work at this late hour,” Edward said lightly. Then he paused and looked at his watch. Eight-thirty? “Who is this visitor, so late in the evening?”
“Mr Fletcher, sir.”
Edward shook his head with a smile. “Jonathan…” he muttered. “Has that rascal finally drank his own cellar dry, at long last?”
“Will you see him in your study, sir?”
“No, I will meet him in the foyer and we will take a glass of wine in the small salon, I imagine. But we will take care of our own needs, thank you. Why don’t you retire for the evening, Mr Momplaisir? It has been a long day for us all.”
A thin smile came to the butler’s lips. “Thank you, sir.”
As he had anticipated, by the time Edward reached the foyer Jonathan had already examined half a dozen vases and antiques before putting them down in different places. Now, as Edward rounded the corner, he saw Jonathan peering up the nearest staircase with an air of circumspection.
